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“Go on.” Warren gestures for me to take a step inside.
Somehow, I break free from not only my thoughts but my permanence on the concrete below as I shuffle past him. The second I make my way into the pub, it’s as if everyone’s attention falls on me. I stick out like a sore thumb. Seemingly, I’ve overdressed for the occasion—no shocker there, but it certainly doesn’t help that I’m only one of a measly few women here—and the only one under 40.
“Um…I thought you said this is where you go to meet all the pigeons?” I’m reminded of Wilks’ claim a couple weeks ago, where he referred to Tenners as being the place to meet the “ladies.”
Wilks bursts into laughter, as do the rest of the team. “It’s birds, Delaney.” He clutches onto his stomach. “Birds, not pigeons.”
“Same difference.” I stick my tongue out at him, giving him a taste of his own medicine.
“Right, lads, go get some tables,” Warren instructs, prompting the boys to do just that. He always somehow finds a way to interrupt intimate moments—or awkwardly insert himself into a part of them.
This whole time, I’d always thought Alf brought the “Dad” energy to the group, and maybe that’s true. Alf is the “Dad.” The way he’s diverted his time towards the bar and seamlessly remembers everyone's drink order tells me just that.
But Warren? Warren’s the “big brother”—the one all the boys respect, look up to, admire, and most importantly, listen to. What Warren says goes, and as much as he asked me not long ago if I ever take “no” for an answer, I think the real person whom that question should’ve been directed to is himself.
With full transparency, Warren’s array of mixed signals has been more exhausting than setting up today’s events. He’s got me on a flip-flop of emotions. One second, I feel like we’re friends, and the next, we’re avoiding each other for reasons I can’t seem to understand. Now, here we are, standing side by side at the bar after he’s outwardly back to being pleasant.
He’s giving me whiplash—and not in the way I like.
Truthfully, I don’t know what to expect from him anymore, and maybe that’s just it. Maybe I should expect nothing and give him nothing in return. A perfectly devised plan, one I’m putting into action starting now, as Warren asks, “What do you want to drink?”
I break free from my internal thoughts as I mutter, “No.” From just his eyes alone, I can see that this single word tortures him. They’re darkened, narrowed, full of question and disbelief as his face drops in confusion.
“No?” He repeats back to me slowly, as if, just as I suspected, he’s never heard it before. “What do you mean,no?” He bites his tongue between his teeth—a deviously calculated action that makes me want to question the longevity of this plan. I hadn’t factored incredibly hot facial expressions as a crack point.
“I mean,” I tear my attention away from his mouth before sucking in a deep breath. “No. I’ll get my own drink.” I flash himmy signature sweet smile before smugly turning my attention away. Let’s see how he likes the flip-flop game, shall we?
“Delaney.” He clears his throat, and it takes everything in me to ignore him. “I insist. Let me buy you a?—”
“No thanks,” I cut him short, leaning up onto the bar counter, where I can’t help but feel Warren’s intimate stare on my body.
I brush it off, waving down the bartender, who, eventually, I seem to catch the attention of. Though the awkward stare he shoots at me as he walks over is nothing like the southern hospitality I'm used to back home.
“Can I help you, love?” His eyes first divert over to Warren before he looks back at me.
“Can I have a strawberry daiquiri, please?” I request, batting my eyelashes at him innocently. “Oh, and can you not rim the glass? I’m not a fan of salt. Double-blend it, too, please. Thanks!”
The bartender gives me a look that I’m not quite sure is that of confusion or concern. “Uh…” He throws a dishcloth over his shoulders. “This is not the establishment you think it is.” His hands gesture to the run-down bar, which I’ve hardly taken any notice in examining. Frankly, there isn’t much to see. “We only have one thing on the menu here, love. Beer. So, which kind will it be?”
Heat rises to my cheeks. I’ve never been a fan of beer, but now, it looks like I’m going to have to become one. “Well…” I stutter awkwardly, scanning the options on tap. “In that case, I’ll have?—”
“She’ll have my usual,” Warren butts in. “Actually, make that two, Roger.”
“You got it, Park.” Roger nods, completely disregarding my input as he turns away from the two of us and starts on our drink order.
“I said I’d get my own.” I purse my lips as one, folding my arms in a huff as I turn to face Warren and straighten my backto size up against him. Although it hardly makes a difference, his frame is practically giant against mine.
He mimics my movement, crossing his own arms across his chest. He's far more intimidating and far more intoxicating as he fires back, “and I said I’d get it for you.”
There’s something oddly satisfying about saying “no” solely to prove a point and watching him groveling to get me to say “yes.” He’s falling right into my trap, and he hardly knows it, or maybe he does. Given the way he can hardly look away as Roger places two freshly poured glasses onto the countertop.
“That’ll be eight pounds,” he speaks, and before I can even reach for my purse by my side, it’s Warren who’s first to slam down the cash.
“Enjoy your drink,Delaney,” Warren says with sincerity, saying my name for what feels like the first time in a lifetime. I hadn’t realized just how much I missed it—though, buying me a drink is hardly enough to make up for his behavior this week.
I say nothing. Instead, I reach for the glass point-blankly, sucking in a firm breath as I reach his eyes one final time before walking away from his side and finding a table in the back corner.
“So,when are you going to tell us what your square-off with Coach was about at the bar?” Wilks leans in, trying to whisper into my ear. It’s a terrible attempt—I’ve never met someone who speaks louder than Wilks. In fact, he does such a terrible job that everyone at our table easily picks up on our topic of conversation, their eyes lighting up in delight.
